


Thunderstorm

by bluebeholder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 10:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas watch a summer thunderstorm roll in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorm

Dean was outside in the shed, resorting all of Bobby’s stored spare parts. The radio crackled between the station it was supposed to be on—a classic rock station—and another, playing old country music. Sam had gone inside a while ago, citing the Dangers of Electrical Storms when One is Sitting in a Metal Shed handling Metal Objects, but Castiel had remained, sitting on the end of an old fixer-upper that Bobby never did get around to fixing. He had a can of beer in his hand, but Dean hadn’t seen him drink anything in twenty minutes. The angel was apparently content to sit and watch Dean try not to drop tiny parts under the shelves and into the wrong bins, or carry big chunks of car doors to their corner of the shed.

“Give me a hand with this, Cas,” Dean said, dragging a huge old fender across the shed floor. Its rattling and banging on the filthy concrete floor was louder than the growling thunder outside.

“No, I’d prefer to watch you suffer,” Cas said. His mouth tilted up into a smile and he picked at the tab on the top of his can. Dean stuck his tongue out at the angel. He threw the fender onto the pile with a clanging clatter and went back for the next one.

The air was close, stiflingly hot. It was bad enough that Dean ditched his shirt after it got completely soaked with sweat. Relief came when, sometimes, a breeze would drift into the shed, carrying a few wayward raindrops with it. Dean could smell the water when it hit the concrete, the musty sweetness mixing with the smell of engine oil and gasoline. It was good, a nice change from the smell of rust and antifreeze that normally clouded the shed. 

Clouds were coming in fast, and when Dean paused to take a swig from his own beer can, he could see lightning flickering blue and white deep inside the black clouds. The thunderheads had built up stealthily. Dean hadn’t noticed them until they were so close that they pretty much filled the sky over the salvage yard.

Rain fell harder. The drops hissed and steamed on the pavement, settling the dust around the edges of the shed door and turning the grime on Dean’s arms into mud when he stepped out to grab a bin of nuts and bolts. “My favorite smell is petrichor,” Cas said abruptly.

Bolts tumbled through Dean’s fingers as he sorted through the bin, taking out the nuts and putting them into their own container. “What’s that?” he asked, glancing up at the angel.

Cas was smiling, staring at the fragile, clear blue strip of sky they could see between the open doors of the shed and the huge gray clouds. The rain was glittering as it fell, turning the cars gold in the storm light. “The smell of rain after a long drought.” 

Dean let the bolts drop and set the lid back on the bin, and as an afterthought shoved the bin under a shelf. He wiped his hands down on an old shirt—the new grime barely made a difference in the color—and went to join Cas on the hood of the car. He brought his beer with him. They sat together for a while, as the wind whipped the trees into frenzy and the light began to turn green, neither man saying anything. The rain grew harder, cold drops blowing in under the eaves of the shed and striking Dean’s bare skin. He shivered. 

The clouds snarled thunder and spat lightning. Dean wasn’t scared of storms. He used to go out and play in the rain when there was thunder, which made Dad and Sam mad. Now it didn’t help that there was an angel sitting next to him. There was no way that they were gonna get hit. Lightning arced in crackling flares and firefly geometries through the clouds. Every bolt set the radio to shuddering static. It was gorgeous. 

Across the yard, around the front of the house, Dean heard Bobby’s screen door bang and squeak open. “Hey, you two yahoos wanna come in or what?” Bobby bellowed across the yard. “Storm’s just gonna get worse!”

“Nah,” Dean called back. He glanced at Cas, who was still staring out into the rain with an electric smile on his face. “We’re good.”


End file.
